


It’s Been So Long ( I’m Sorry )

by Ragdolly



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ciri ( Mentioned ), Established Relationship, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer ( Mentioned ), marilka and geralt meet again, random unnamed sorcerer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragdolly/pseuds/Ragdolly
Summary: “The barn is clear.” Is all he says and Jaskier would laugh if he weren’t so tightly wound from whatever is happening.John steps around his aunt to hold his hand to him. “Thanks again, sir Witcher! We really appreciate it, this is my aunt, by the way, aunt Marilka!”—Years after Mountains and Dragons, Geralt and Jaskier are on the Path and come across an old face from the past.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 157





	It’s Been So Long ( I’m Sorry )

**Author's Note:**

> Basically i can’t get the thought of marilka out of my head! Also i’ve only watched the show and everything i know of is from there, reading fics and googling so i’m sorry if stuff is wrong or OOC! i just had to get this off my chest :)

The inn they're staying at is one of the nicer establishments since they descended from Kaer Morhen a few weeks ago, the crowd doesn't even fall silent when they walk through the door, which in Jaskier’s books is a success. The barmaid takes their order for ale and stew with a smile and nods them away to a table to wait.

“Well,” Jaskier says, swinging his lute case from his back to rest at his side as Geralt takes the seat opposite, facing the rest of the tavern “this certainly is a refreshing greeting! Well, I may even grace these wonderful people with a Jaskier special!” He beams as the barmaid sets two tankards down in front of them before leaving again. 

Geralt takes a gulp of ale, bringing his hand up to wipe his mouth, “you would have done so anyway,” he says, lips tugging up slightly at the corner. He doesn’t show it, but the lack of verbal abuse upon entering the inn has certainly helped the tension deep from his broad shoulders. It always pleases Jaskier to see him as settled as he can be while around strangers. 

“Even so,” he begins, twisting around to take another look around the room “I wouldn’t sing your praises to anyone who doesn't appreciate my efforts! Thank you, dear.” He adds on to the barmaid, who has returned with two bowls of stew. She nods and takes her to leave. 

Geralt lifts his spoon and is about to take his first mouthful when someone clears their throat to their left. Jaskier sees the tension return to his shoulders even as he directs his attention to the young man now standing before them, hands wringing nervously in front of him. 

“Please excuse me, sirs.” His eyes flick to their bowls and then back to Geralt, although he doesn’t look directly at him. Geralt grunts, nodding his head when the man doesn’t say anything else. 

“There was a sorcerer here over the winter, used my aunt’s old barn for his work and when he cleared out he left some potions and other things. My aunt says not to bother but she’ll need the space come summer harvest,” He pulls a small coin pouch from his pocket and sets it on the table where Jaskier pulls it open to reveal a decent amount of coin. “That’s all I can pay you if you don’t mind taking a look and seeing if it’s safe for me to clear out?” He looks to Jaskier for a second before shuffling and looking back to Geralt who peers into the pouch, removing a few coins before closing it again and picking his spoon up. 

“Come back to me in the morning, I’ll take a look at your barn then if you can wait.” Geralt says, pushing the mostly full pouch back at the boy who after a moment takes it back. 

He nods his head, clutching the pouch to him but looking less nervous now he’s voiced his request. “Thank you, sir Witcher. I’ll be back after breakfast has been served!” He turns and heads out, waving to a few of the other patrons in the inn. 

Jaskier slurps the last of his stew before leaning back, taking in the Witcher across him. “Very gracious of you to not take his coin.” He leans his chin on his hand, relishing in the barely visible blush that graces the tips of Geralt's ears as he shrugs and finishes his own bowl. 

“Probably nothing to be worried about, although he’s smart enough to risk it. Might even be a few things I can use in my own potions.” 

“Ah,” Jaskier grins, turning to gather up his lute “so you’ll still be gaining something at least. One more ale before my performance I think if you want to sort out getting us a room?” He nods to Geralt, getting only a typical ‘hmm’ in response before bouncing over to the barmaid once again. 

He gives a few introductory strums after setting down his tankard, drawing the attention of the crowd as he takes his place at the centre of the tavern floor grinning around at everyone’s interested faces. It never gets better than an attentive audience. 

“So then,” he begins, out of the corner of his eye seeing Geralt talking to the innkeeper about their room “Are you ready to be enthralled?” 

————

Later, when his coin purse is full and his throat hoarse, Jaskier takes to the stairs to the room the innkeeper told him his Witcher would be in. It’s been a few hours since dinner, but he knows Geralt will still be awake although he does try to keep quiet as he slips into the room. Geralt is on the bed, eyes shut and hands behind his head. 

Jaskier rests his lute against the wall and shoved another log onto the dying hearth before unbuttoning his doublet with numb fingers. 

“Good performance?” Geralt asks voice low and rumbling. Jaskier looks over to see a slant of gold in the low light, watching him as he sheds the doublet into the back of a chair. He huffs, bending to remove his boots.

“You would know if you ever stuck around to listen dear.” Jaskier isn’t truly upset about Geralt never staying for his sets, he’s comfortable enough in their relationship to know that he appreciates his profession and that his pie is definitely filling thank you very much! 

Geralt just hums, and Jaskier can already feel it deep in his own chest as he finishes undressing to his small clothes and slips into bed beside him. 

“Anyway, I have procured plenty of coin with my amazing renditions of your deeds that we should be able to get your potion ingredients if tomorrow doesn’t turn up anything of use for you.” Jaskier burrows into Geralt's chest, resting his head on the arm that curls around his back. He brings his own hand to rest above Geralt's heart, going lax as he counts the slow steady beats. He shivers when fingers trail down his spine and turns to grin up at his witcher. 

“I can buy my own ingredients.” Although they earn their money separately, they have long given up the idea that they don’t share whatever they get from hunts and performances. It’s arguing for argument sake, although Jaskier finds it endlessly endearing anyway. 

“Hmmm,” Jaskier brings his fingers up the stubbled jaw before him, scratching there lightly and relishing in the rumble it grants him. “just as I can buy my own lute strings?” 

He remembers when Geralt had presented the small package to him on their last stop before they were to travel up to the Wolf Keep, his witcher refusing to look at him even as he handed the gift over. “So I don’t have to hear you complain if you break one.” 

“Oh please,” Jaskier had crooned, smug as anything while he clambered onto his lap. “Like you don’t live for my complaining.” 

Gerald currently turns his head to nip at his fingers in warning, as if he knows exactly what Jaskier is thinking of and wants to put a stop to it. As if that ever worked. 

“Hush.” He shuffles down into the bed further, Jaskier held tight to him as he closes his eyes. “We’ll leave after checking this barn, carry on till we get to the coastal path.”

“My my, are you trying to butter me up for something darling? You hate the coast.” A few years ago, after the dreaded mountain and the tearful apologies that came after Geralt had taken him to the coast he had so longed to go to and gave him what he had wanted most; his love. During that week they spent there, rolling around the sheets and strolling the shoreline he had revealed that he, in fact, hated the ocean. Jaskier had asked him then, windswept by the salty air, why he had come. Gerald simply brought his hand to push the hair away, stared deep into his eyes down to his soul and said: “I’d do anything to keep you happy.” 

Jaskier had turned his eyes skyward, silently thanked Destiny for finally granting his wishes: and jumped his witcher then and there, caring not for the sand that would cling to their sensitive areas for the rest of the week. 

“No,” Geralt's languid voice breaks through his reminiscing. “Yennefer said she’d heard of something making trouble that way, I told her I’d check it out.” 

Jaskier only hums, letting it rest though he doesn’t fully believe him. Geralt has a way of being very sentimental but being equally as unwilling to admit it so. This spring will mark their seventh year since ‘getting their shit together’ as Ciri likes to call it. Jaskier is fine with letting Geralt pretend to not be the softie he actually is, and finally lets sleep take over. 

————

The morning dawns bright and clear, the air brisk but not unpleasant as Jaskier watches Gerald brush Roach over while they wait for the man from yesterday to arrive. 

“We never got his name.” He voices aloud once the thought occurs to him. 

“We know his face.” Geralt points out, starting to pack Roach up with their belongings as well as some extra food from the kitchens when the said person turns into the stables. 

“Good morning! I hope I’m not too late.” He seems less nervous today, looking directly at Geralt and offering a small smile to them both. 

Jaskier stands, brushes out the creases in his breeches and follows the man as Geralt leads out Roach behind them.

“Worry not my good fellow, this one here likes the wake at the first crack of light so you’d be late even if you were early! I realise we never got your name?” 

“John,” He offers his hand which Jaskier shakes and then swings his lute round to pick at as they follow the path out of the village. The farm with said barn is no more than five minutes down the trail, coming into view behind a row of trees. 

As they approach, Jaskier takes in the quaint house that sits opposite the barn and the chickens around the courtyard. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around which strikes as odd, but he doesn’t question it and John soon enough speaks up again. 

“My aunt has already been out to the cows, she’ll probably not bother us and my brothers are already out in the fields.” He points out past the stone wall, where two figures can be seen a bit away. 

The barn door slides open and John cautiously peers inside before stepping out the way. “My aunt was reluctant to even let the sorcerer stay, bad history, but we needed the money when the snow got bad. I’m sure it’s fine, but I’d like to be sure.” 

Geralt hands-off Roach’s reins to Jaskier and then steps fully into the barn, turning to pull the door closed again. 

John goes about doing odd work in the yard while they wait, leaving Jaskier to sneak sugar cubes to Roach and think about the journey to come. It’ll probably be a few more weeks before it’s warm enough to start sleeping outdoors again, and the weather near the coast is never certain. He’ll have to make sure to keep giving his best performances when they do stop, the idea of having to be camping while the morning still dawn frosty not appealing to him in the slightest. 

Distantly he hears the sound of a door hinge protesting and he turns his head to see who must be John’s aunt stepping down from the house looking his way. She appears fairly young, probably a bit older than what he’d look like if he aged like a regular human, brown hair only just going grey from what he can make out at this distance. John meets her halfway, gesturing his way once or twice. 

“Jaskier, this is my aunt!” They walk over to him and, keeping one hand on Roach’s reins, offers the other to the woman now before him. 

“Wonderful to meet you, ma’am! Jaskier the Bard at your service! ” She gives him a long look, eyes travelling to the Roach and then the barn. 

“John tells me there’s a witcher in my barn.” Her tone tells nothing of what she thinks of this but Jaskier’s heart skips a beat, feeling wary for some reason. 

“Ah yes,” He chuckles, clenching his first around the reins he’s holding. “Geralt is just making sure your beautiful barn is all safe for the summer! John explained the situation to us, and we were more than happy to take a look for you!” 

The woman’s eyes narrow slightly just as the barn door opens again, Gerald stepping back out into the morning sunshine. Jaskier swears he feels something shift in the air as Geralt and this woman lock eyes. 

She breathes in deep, arms coming up to cross at her front and somehow making her appear much bigger than she is. “Geralt of Rivia.” 

The witcher in question studies her and nods to her, darting a look at Jaskier and John both, seemingly just as confused as them. 

“The barn is clear.” Is all he says and Jaskier would laugh if he weren’t so tightly wound from whatever is happening. 

John steps around his aunt to hold his hand to him. “Thanks again, sir Witcher! We really appreciate it, this is my aunt, by the way, aunt Marilka!” 

Geralt, who had brought his hand up to shake his, froze so suddenly even Roach gave a snort. All at once, Geralt's eyes widen with a look Jaskier wants to call fear but having never seen such a look on him before can’t say for sure. He pushes past John and starts striding away. 

Jaskier stares in shock and is about to call after him when the woman, Marilka, apparently, beats him to it. 

“Don’t walk away from me!” Though small, her voice carries the demand with strength and Geralt actually comes to a halt although he doesn’t turn around, shoulders up around his ears. 

Jaskier has had enough though, and he pulls Roach to follow Geralt and passes the woman and John, who looks as baffled as him. 

“Actually I think we’re going to take our leave now.” He manages to get to Geralt, who has a haunted look around his eyes that Jaskier isn’t liking one bit. This woman though isn’t having it and is coming their way and Jaskier does the only thing he can think of and brings himself between her and his witcher. 

“Stop there, please. I don’t know who you are but my Witcher and I are taking our leave.” 

“He knows who I am.” She doesn’t let up and Jaskier feels Geralt turning to face this mystery woman, hand coming to rest on his shoulder before, to his absolute bafflement, he drops to his knees before them both. 

“I’m sorry, Marilka.” The words seem to bring her up short and she stares down at him just as Jaskier is. This is getting more confusing by the second, he doesn’t even know where John has got to. 

The way Geralt is behaving is something Jaskier has seen before when he had thought Jaskier was not going to forgive him for breaking his heart. But this somehow doesn’t feel like a wronged ex-lover. 

Marilka though, after staring for a minute, sighs and all the fight seems to drain from her. 

“No, I’m sorry. I led you there in the first place.” 

Jaskier watches, truly confused but intrigued nonetheless, as Marilka kneels too and tentatively brings her hand to Geralt's shoulder to pat a few times. They kneel there together until Jaskier can’t take anymore. 

“I’m sorry, this is super nice and everything but what is happening?” Marilka looks up first. 

“Bard, how old were you when the Butcher took Blaviken?” Jaskier watches the way Geralt flinches, as he always does at the moniker and scowls. 

“Don't call him that! Why, what does that matter?” Geralt's hand creeps around Jaskiers calf, squeezing reassuringly which makes him actually think about the answer. 

“I was probably around 9, though I don’t see why it’s relevant.” 

“I was 11 when a Witcher came to my village and killed a dozen men and a princess. I turned him away, betrayed him when it was I who led him to the sorcerer. Bid him never show his face again even when he’s saved us all.” 

Oh but Jaskier has always known there must have been to the story than him killing a dozen men for no reason. Knew as soon as he’d seen the softness in Geralt's heart that evening of their first meeting when he had reluctantly let the bard tag along. Knew that this man, emotionally stunted as he was, couldn't have been capable of it if there wasn’t a damn good reason. 

“I think,” Jaskier starts, kneeling as well, fingers curling into Geralt's hair even as he turns to address Marilka “the fault here lies with this sorcerer, rather than a child and a man who was tricked. And, anyway, no one even calls him that name anymore. Not after my songs.” 

“Yes, they do.” Geralt says, amusement creeping into his tone. “ You just sing at them until they leave.” 

“Quite right! Only my white wolf to be found here, no butcher of any kind.” Jaskier croons, pressing his smile into Geralt’s cheek before kissing him there too for good measure. Geralt huffs but leans into the touch anyway. 

Eventually, they all get up from the ground and brush off their knees and move to sit on the wooden steps of Marilka’s house, where she gets them both a cup of home-brewed ale which isn’t half bad. Her and Geralt talk about his recent hunts, a youthful side coming out in her as Jaskier watches on. 

When it’s time for them to leave around midday, Marilka wraps her arms around Geralt’s middle and hugs him hard but only quickly before pulling back. 

“Well, good luck on the path I suppose. I’ll be here if you ever pass through again.” She walks with them to the gate of her farm and waves them off. They turn back at the edge of the road to see her making her way back inside and Jaskier slips his hand into Geralt’s free one. 

“That was unexpected.” Geralt huffs a laugh at that, more relaxed now some of the invisible weight has been lifted. 

“Don't go making a song about it.” 

“Course not,” Jaskier agrees, making Geralt glance sceptically his way. “Can’t have everyone knowing what a softie you are.” 

“I’m not soft.” 

“You so are.” 

The grumbles carry on down the trail with the coast awaiting them and the past, finally and peacefully, behind them.


End file.
